Thursday, March 31, 2011

Note 114

114 The Bards conceive, etc.—The meaning of this period is too evident to require a note. But, in order to shew that the commentators of India are not less fond of searching for mystery, and wandering from the simple path of their author into a labyrinth of scholastic jargon, than some of those of more enlightened nations, who for ages have been labouring to entangle the plain unerring clew of our holy religion, the Translator, in this place, will intrude the following literal version of the comment written upon it by one Srēē-dhăr Swāmēē, whose notes upon the whole are held in as much esteem as the text, which at this day, they say, is unintelligible without them. It can seldom happen that a commentator is inspired with the same train of thought and arrangement of ideas as the author whose sentiments he presumes to expound, especially in metaphysical works. The Translator hath seen a comment, by a zealous Persian, upon the wanton odes of their favorite Poet Hafiz, wherein every obscene allusion is sublimated into a divine mystery, and the host and the tavern are as ingeniously metamorphosed into their Prophet and his holy temple.

Note by Srēē-Dhăr Swāmĕĕ,

To the Passage Above Alluded To.

The Bards, &c.—The Vēds say—“Let him who longeth for children make offerings. Let him who longeth for heaven make offerings, &c. &c.” The Bards understand Sănnyās to be a forsaking, that is, a total abandonment, of such works as are performed for the accomplishment of a wish, such works as are bound with the cord of desire. The Păndĕĕts know, that is, they understand, Sănnyās to imply also a forsaking of all works, together with all their fruits. The disquisitors, that is, such as expound or make clear, call Tyāg a forsaking of the fruit only of every work that is desirable, whether such as are ordained to be performed constantly, or only at stated periods; and not a forsaking of the work itself. But how can there be a forsaking of the fruit of such constant and stated works as have no particular fruit or reward annexed to them? The forsaking of a barren woman’s child cannot be conceived.—It is said—“Although one who longeth for heaven, or for a store of cattle, &c. should all his life perform the ceremonies which are called Săndyā, or feed the fire upon the altar, and in these and the like ceremonies, no particular reward has ever been heard of; yet whilst the law is unable to engage a provident and wary man in a work where no human advantage is to be seen, at the same time it ordaineth that even he who hath conquered the universe, &c. shall perform sacrifices; still for these, and the like religious duties, it hath appointed some general reward.”—But it is the opinion of Gŏŏrŏŏ, that the law intended these works merely for its own accomplishment. Such a tenet is unworthy of notice, because of the difficulty of obliging men to pay attention to those works.—It is also said, that there is a reward annexed to the general and particular duties; that they who perform them shall become inhabitants of the Pŏŏnyă-lōk; that by works the Pĕĕtrĕĕ-lōk is to be attained; that by good works crimes are done away, &c. &c. Wherefore it is properly said,—that they call Tyāg a forsaking of the fruits of every action.”

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In the summer of 1845 Henry David Thoreau moved to a woods on the shore of Walden Pond. For the next two years he lived there in a small cabin he had mostly built himself, located on land owned by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

In his book Walden Thoreau described his reason for moving to Walden Pond: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Earlier in Walden Thoreau also wrote: "My purpose in going to Walden Pond was not to live cheaply nor to live dearly there, but to transact some private business with the fewest possible obstacles."

One of the few items Thoreau took with him to Walden Pond was a copy of Charles Wilkins’s translation of Bhagavad-gita, which he had been introduced to by Emerson. It was the first English language edition of Bhagavad-gita, published in 1785 and titled The Bhagvat-Geeta, or Dialogues of Kreeshna and Arjoon.

In chapter 16 of Walden Thoreau wrote: "In the morning I bathe my intellect in the stupendous and cosmogonal philosophy of the Bhagvat-Geeta, since whose composition years of the gods have elapsed, and in comparison with which our modern world and its literature seem puny and trivial; and I doubt if that philosophy is not to be referred to a previous state of existence, so remote is its sublimity from our conceptions."

Emerson also wrote about Bhagavad-gita:“I owed--my friend and I owed--a magnificent day to the Bhagavat Geeta. It was the first of books; it was as if an empire spake to us, nothing small or unworthy, but large, serene, consistent, the voice of an old intelligence which in another age and climate had pondered and thus disposed of the same questions which exercise us.”

This blog is dedicated to the exploration, application, and discussion of Bhagavad-gita, using primarily Charles Wilkins’s translation Bhagvat-Geeta, the edition Thoreau took with him to Walden Pond.